The First Return
by JJuna
Summary: This story follows the events of 5x13. There is nothing here that contradicts canon, but I always wanted more Merlin. I would have loved to see a series 6. This is my idea of the way it could have happened. :)
1. Chapter 1

The widowed queen wore black; her weeds matched her sombre mood. She had discarded the bright robe she had been forced to wear to the ceremony, and she felt that happiness would be forever beyond her. And yet despite her bereavement, she knew she must soldier on, like the knights now shorn of their leader and inspiration. Things would never be the same again. She sat, gazing out of the window of her solar, but the beautiful vista of the city failed to lighten her mood. A feeling of utter hopelessness came upon her. She had lost her husband, and her dearest friend, but the loss to the kingdom of its two greatest and most powerful men was beyond repair. She thought back to the ordeal of yesterday, at which she had been proclaimed sole ruler, no longer a consort.

"Long live the Queen," echoed in her head, over and over, as she closed her eyes and relived the moment. No one had wanted this, certainly not she. Only Camelot's enemies could take heart from the tragic turn of events following the victory at Camlann. She saw the distraught faces of the populace that had turned to her for reassurance and comfort; she had tried to provide for them what she was unable to provide for herself.

And she could not even achieve closure, because Merlin had not returned with Arthur's remains. She alone had felt the hour of Arthur's passing, just as she had sensed that he was still alive until that moment. Although she had known it with a crushing certainty, it was only the passage of time that had convinced the others that all hope was lost. There had been no word from the sorcerer, for such she must call him now, not even a whisper. Where was he, and why had he abandoned them all in their hour of greatest need? She reflected how little she really knew of Merlin, and with a sinking heart, admitted what a master of deception he must be. Gaius had attempted to explain all he had done for Arthur and the kingdom, but Gwen could see through the years of lies and obfuscation to the truth. If Merlin had trusted them enough to be open and honest, in all probability Arthur would still be alive today. Such thoughts could only increase her suffering, and a well of tears rose to the surface, ready to overflow. Rising quickly, she crossed the room and locked the door so she should not be disturbed, before releasing the dam and ceding to her private grief.

...

The old man shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked around his chambers. Surrounded by the ephemera of his profession, the vials and potions, and the surgical instruments, it struck him how pointless it all seemed now. His existence seemed dull and meaningless; despite his adherence to duty, he was merely going through the motions. Totally exhausted, he took advantage of a moment's rest after having been out on call for hours; it seemed his services were more in demand than ever. From the highest and most exalted lords and ladies of the land, to members of the court, to the humblest denizens of the lower town, all sections of society required the attention of their physician. Despite the constant summonses he received, Gaius had never felt more alone. That loneliness, that malaise that struck at his very heart was the same that assailed the kingdom generally. While he had been obliged to prescribe a number of restorative tonics, he could no more provide a real remedy for the grief that had settled on the community like an oppressive blanket, than he could lift it for himself. Only time could do that, and in this case, he feared, they would all carry their grief to the grave...and beyond.

The kingdom was like a rudderless ship, adrift in an ocean of grief. He feared the ship might sink without trace, despite the best efforts of the queen and the remaining knights. He knew Guinevere to be resilient and capable of rising to any challenge, as she had often proved before. But while he had every faith in her, Gaius felt her burden was too heavy. Her husband had been torn from her before the appointed time, at what should have been their happiest moment – the ending of the war. The physician sighed deeply and shook his head in disbelief, as he had done many times in recent days, asking himself the same question over and over again. How had they somehow managed to snatch what seemed like total defeat from the jaws of victory? It wasn't meant to be this way. All their hopes and dreams of Albion and its Golden Age had been brutally shattered, and all their sacrifices had been rendered futile. Destiny had been denied. Again, he asked himself how it had come to this. The bitterness was overpowering and the loss of Merlin devastating. He was nothing without the boy, as he still thought of him fondly. He would gladly have given his own life for Arthur and Merlin to fulfil their destinies together. The way it should have been. The bright future that they'd been promised. The time the poets spoke of...But instead the king lay dead, the gods only knew where, and Merlin had disappeared. Gaius knew he would not return. He had known it when they said goodbye. If Arthur did not live, Merlin would never set foot in Camelot again. It was unthinkable.

…

The Rising Sun tavern was full again. Always a focal point for the community, it was here that members congregated to share their grief, visiting whenever they were able. Knights and civilians mingled, comfortable in each other's company. Any barriers of rank or distinction had come crashing down in their time of crisis and the aftermath of war. The people met to mourn and discuss, and above all, to drown their sorrows.

Sir Leon sat nursing a tankard of mead. He'd never been one to approve of drunkenness, and his commitment to duty and sobriety notwithstanding, but in times like these, with the loss of their king and two of their closest friends, he felt a little excess was forgiveable, warranted even. He turned his attention back to his companion and considered how best to attempt to cheer him up. Sir Percival presented a morose picture. Normally of a calm, cheerful and unflappable disposition, the knight was ravaged by guilt and regret. While he knew he could have done nothing to prevent Arthur's death or the disappearance of Merlin, he blamed himself for not being strong enough to withstand Gwaine's suggestion. What on earth had they hoped to achieve in pursuing Morgana? Experience had taught them nothing, and Sir Percival felt foolish in the extreme as well as devastated that he'd been unable to save his friend. He still couldn't bring himself to talk about it, other than the mere information that Gwaine had died at Morgana's hands. The memory of it made him shudder again.

Sir Leon looked him over thoughtfully, deciding that work was likely to be the most cathartic approach for both of them. Conversation and sympathy hadn't helped in the slightest. "Right then, my friend," he said, draining his tankard in a single gulp. "Let's get back to the training field." He grasped Sir Percival by the arm and helped him to stand up, and they made their way, a little unsteadily to the door.

 **...**

Arthur felt nothing as he sank to the depths of his watery grave. The king of Camelot descended deeper and deeper, as the waters of the lake closed over him, sealing the barrier with the land of the living. There was no pain, no sensation, and the darkness engulfed him completely. He lay peacefully undisturbed; he never knew for how long, but after an interval which could have been hours, days, weeks, or even years, a faint murmuring awakened his consciousness. Voices, becoming louder, intruded on his slumber. He heard the same words, repeated constantly: " _Must go_ _on, must go back, unprecedented, unheard of, never"_...There was a female voice, soft and persuasive, gentle yet persistent, that somehow stirred the faintest of memories in him. A male voice, unknown but authoritative, yet with an increasing hint of desperation, as it yielded to a higher power. " _Arthur_ _Pendragon, The Once and Future King, legend_..."

With a start, he realized they were discussing _him_ and arguing over his fate. This puzzled him. He was dead, wasn't he? He was pretty sure about that. He remembered the moment of his passing quite clearly, so what on earth was there to discuss? He wished they would stop arguing and just leave him in peace. He deserved that, after all the trauma and agony he had been through. But when the voices finally stopped, a pulsing blue light surrounded him, so dazzling in its brilliance that he could sense it even though his eyes were closed. Someone took him by the hand and pulled him to his feet. He found he was was able to open his eyes and discovered that he was standing in a chamber with plain, whitewashed walls. In front of him stood a woman dressed in a white robe. A beautiful woman that he was sure he had seen before. If only he could think where. He gaped at her, the impression of unreality overwhelming him. He was used to being in control, but now he didn't know what to do. Feeling totally bewildered by the turn of events, he opened and closed his mouth wordlessly several times, but eventually he found his voice.

"Who are you and what do you want from me?"

"I am Freya, the Lady of the Lake," she replied, her gentle smile tinged with melancholy. "I have come to tell you you must go back. Your time has not yet come, Arthur Pendragon. It is not your fate to die so soon. You still have much to accomplish."

"But as I was dying, I heard what the dragon said to Merlin. He said that everything in the prophecies had already come to pass."

She laughed, a pleasant, tinkling sound, that somehow held no hint of mirth. "We both know that isn't true. You have barely even begun to fulfil your destiny, and as for Kilgharrah, he is not omniscient, as much as he would like to believe he is, and he has always served his own interests first. He has often led Merlin astray."

Arthur didn't understand any of this, and he knew nothing of Kilgharrah. His mind was filled with doubt and confusion. "How can I go back?" he asked. He knew it wasn't possible. Was he really in the afterlife? This could be some form of dark magic or perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. Nobody ever returned from beyond the grave, but seeing the serene certainty on her face confused him even more. "Why me?" he managed finally.

"You are the Once and Future King," she answered simply. "You are unique."

He still looked baffled. "Your story will be a beacon of hope and inspiration till the end of time," she explained, "and this will not be your only return. Whenever your people need you, you will answer their call, and they need you now."

His mind was still beset by questions, concerning the past, present and future. Too many to ask at once. "But what am I supposed to do?" he blurted.

"You must find the answer to that within yourself," she replied. "It is not for me to tell you."

How very frustrating, he thought, and absolutely typical. Everyone magical talked in riddles. _Magic_. She definitely had magic, and perhaps this was what he was meant to do – restore magic to the land. He knew now that sorcery wasn't intrinsically evil, the complete opposite of what he'd always been taught to believe. He stared at her, trying to understand. In response, she opened her mind and allowed him the faintest glimpse into her memories. He saw her, terrified and caged by the bounty hunter, Halig. He saw her escape into the tunnels beneath the citadel, helped by Merlin. He felt her internal struggle as she transformed into the beast, while powerless to prevent it. And finally, he saw himself, on that black and ill-fated night, mortally wounding her, before Merlin came to her rescue once again and brought her to the lake. The revelation of her identity and history made him stagger from shock, from grief, and from guilt. He now knew that he had only seen her before in her other form, and he wondered if he had recognized her spirit.

"I am sorry," he gasped. "So very sorry."

"You were not to know," she said, but you can make amends now."

"To you? How?" he asked eagerly. "I will do anything you want."

"Not to me. It is too late for me, and I am content with my destiny. Your reparation must be to the people, and to Merlin."

 _Merlin_. All the memories came flooding back. The years of deceit, the startling revelation of Merlin's magic, and the agony of their final journey and last moments together. Now he could admit to himself how much they meant to each other, and he just hoped the idiot hadn't done something silly.

The connection between their minds was still open, and she was quick to reassure him. "He cannot die," she said, "however much he would wish to."

This was another body blow, which again left him reeling from shock. He felt winded and could barely speak. "What do you mean?" he whispered. "He's immortal?" He knew it wasn't possible, but then, he wouldn't have believed that any of this was possible. It was all too much to take in. Arthur himself, alone among men, was being granted a second chance, while the depth of Merlin's tragedy struck him like a hammer blow. To be the greatest sorcerer that ever lived was one thing, but to have to live for ever was quite another. Immortality was a curse. To be forced to live on while all your loved ones died was a nightmare. He was almost afraid to ask the question. "Does he know?"

"He knows now," she replied. "It is his destiny. Whenever you return, he will be there to help you. You will never be alone."

"But he will."

"Yes," she said sadly, "through the long years of waiting, he will."

He could not stop the tears falling. The thought of how much his friend had suffered and was yet to suffer on his behalf was unbearable. He was overcome again by feelings of guilt and shame, and he wished that somehow they could share the burden together.

"He is strong," she consoled him, "but you'd better get back to him quickly, hadn't you?"

This made him attempt to pull himself together and act in a decisive manner. "You are right," he said, looking around for an exit. "Tell me how to leave this place."

"Arthur, aren't you forgetting something?" she asked him, but seeing his look of surprise, she laughed again.

"You'll be needing this," she said, presenting him with the sword. His sword. _Excalibur_. He understood its importance now and he would guard it with his life. His _second_ life, his _second_ chance, and he knew he would do things differently this time, unhampered by prejudice and doubt. He would finally cast off his father's shadow, and be the king he was always meant to be.

"Thank you," he breathed softly. He regarded her with gratitude and admiration, and it was easy to see why Merlin had loved her.

"You are welcome," she smiled. "Now go and fulfil your destiny, with Merlin at your side."

As she spoke, her image faded before his eyes, and the walls of the chamber dissolved. He found himself propelled upwards by a great and unseen force to the surface of the lake. He climbed at once into the waiting boat, which took him slowly to the shore.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur had plenty of time to admire the landscape as the boat wended its leisurely way across the lake. It wasn't just the beauty of the shimmering water as the breeze softly ruffled its surface, or the way the mountains rose majestically, their snowy peaks almost touching the heavens, that drew his attention. He was also captivated by an aura, an atmosphere in the air, which for want of a better word, he described to himself as 'magical'. And he sensed not even a hint of threat or danger in this enchanted location, proving yet again that sorcery could be a thing of peace and beauty.

 _"Everything here...is so full of life. Every tree, every leaf, every insect. It's as if the world is vibrating. As if everything is much more than itself."_

The words, once spoken by that bumbling servant of his of a different place, came forcefully into his mind. He had been oblivious then, but now, as he set foot ashore upon this sacred land, he finally understood. He felt the vibrations, the rhythm, in every bone in his body. He saw the world anew, through fresh eyes, and it was a revelation. This heightened reality must be the way that Merlin experienced the world. Was this the reason the man had always managed to maintain a cheerful outlook, dispensing words of wisdom and optimism when all seemed lost? He would be sure to discuss it with him when he found him.

Walking a little further inland, he noticed the horse. Standing close to the trees but untethered, it was grazing peacefully. Coming closer, it raised its grey head and whinnied. Arthur wondered if he was being fanciful at first, but he felt it was waiting for him. As he was inexplicably drawn to it, he noticed its majestic stature, glossy coat, and kindly eye. The stables of Camelot housed the finest horses in the land, but even by those exacting standards, this horse was exceptional. And Arthur himself was an expert horseman, and although he had had several horses that he was fond of, he had never found 'the one'. Until now. The magnificence of the gift stunned him. Was this also Freya's doing? He realized that someone must be smoothing his path, and he mouthed a silent thank you to his benefactor as he climbed into the saddle. Almost before he was seated, the horse had turned towards Camelot.

On the journey, he considered how best to make his reappearance. Knowing that everyone must believe him dead, he needed his arrival to be as inconspicuous as possible. He hoped to be able to speak to Gwen before anyone else saw him. He decided the wisest course was to enter the citadel through a side gate that few people were aware of. Unfortunately for his purposes, the gate was manned. The sole guard stood to attention as the king approached. The guard blanched and rocked back on his heels. Arthur feared he was about to faint. The man opened and closed his mouth several times before a sound came out. "But, but... you're.. _.dead_ ," he croaked, eyes almost bulging from their sockets.

"Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated," the king returned with a grimace. Seeing the guard still frozen as immobile as a statue and unresponsive to his gestures, he was forced to remind him of his duty. "Would you be so kind as to open the gate?"

The man pulled himself together with difficulty, "At once, Sire," he replied, and hurried to do his bidding.

As an afterthought, the king called back, "Do not mention this matter to anyone." Having seen the effect his appearance had had on the guard, he decided it would be necessary to conceal his identity, hoping to pass unnoticed through the castle. "Oh, and lend me your helmet as well."

The man complied without hesitation, and Arthur pulled the helmet on. As he made his way through the castle, no one stopped or challenged him. There was abundant evidence of a kingdom in mourning, and black drapes gloomily adorned every wall. All the people he passed looked preoccupied and miserable and walked with their heads down, seemingly unaware of their surroundings. He was saddened to witness the people of the citadel so demoralized. Their grief was almost tangible.

Reaching Guinevere's chambers, he was surprised to to see that this time no guards were stationed at the door, so he slipped inside, intending to wait for the queen's return. At once, he noticed that some remnants of a meal were on the table and it made him realize how hungry he was. His stomach began to rumble. It was long since he had eaten. He pulled up a chair and began to eat ravenously.

Evening was drawing to a close, and the chamber was in semi darkness when Guinevere entered. Dark shadows inhabited every corner, and although the room was utterly still, she had an unnerving sensation that she was not alone. Shivers went down her spine, and she looked around the room carefully. She almost jumped from fright when she saw a vision of her deceased husband, dressed in chainmail, and sitting quietly in his favourite chair. Coming closer, she saw that his eyes were shut. She knew she must be hallucinating, and she needed help. Gaius would know what to do, but as she rushed towards the door in panic, the vision spoke.

"You really shouldn't wear black, you know. It's not your colour. Purple suits you much better."

She turned and saw the vision watching her intently. "Arthur?" she whispered in disbelief. His voice was unmistakable, but this must be a dream. In a minute she would pinch herself and wake up.

"In person," the vision smiled. Seeing her hesitation, he stood up and opened his arms. "It isn't a dream. I am real. You can touch me," he coaxed gently, as if he had read her mind.

She remained immobile, rooted to the spot, still not daring to believe. "But how? We thought..."

"It's a long story," he said, "but I'm here now, and that's all that matters."

"That's all that matters," she repeated slowly, while the burden of grief that lay heavily on her heart lifted, rendering her dizzy and lightheaded. Then, with a sob of joy, she moved towards him. His arms closed around her, pulling her into a tight embrace, and when his lips found hers, she was no longer in any doubt.

 **...**

Despite the king's instruction to the guard, news of his return had somehow spread through the castle like wildfire. Following a brief meeting with Sir Leon and Sir Percival, Arthur turned his steps towards the physician's chambers. Gaius had been one of the first to be informed, so he was able to maintain his composure when Arthur knocked on his door and entered.

"Sire," he said, "it is wonderful to see you again, but how..."

Arthur was in no mood to prevaricate and had only one question on his mind. "Where is he?"

Gaius had anticipated the enquiry, but could only say with a sad shake of the head. "We don't know, Sire. We have not seen or heard from him since...since..."

"My _death_?"

Gaius nodded. "I'm afraid so, Sire."

"The fool," the king raged in response. "How could he leave you all without help?" He knew his reaction was irrational, but his disappointment and frustration at Merlin's absence were overpowering.

"Perhaps he couldn't bear to come back here without you. It would have been too painful. The memories..."

He knew this must be the truth, but he attempted to deflect it. "I suppose I should be flattered," he said with a heavy heart, unable to keep the bitterness and regret from his voice.

"You would have mourned him in the same way, I'm sure of it," the physician responded gently.

"Yes, I would have mourned him, but I wouldn't have abandoned Camelot."

"That's because Camelot was your destiny, Sire, while his destiny was _you_."

Arthur knew the physician had a point. Everything Merlin had done had been for _him_. He saw that now and wondered how he could have been so oblivious to his servant's actions before. The man had been willing to subjugate himself entirely for Arthur's benefit. He owed Merlin so much, and Freya's words provided further incentive for immediate action, if it had been needed. But his own conscience was more than enough. Giving himself a quick mental shake, he spoke briskly.

"Right, there is only one thing to do. I must find him immediately. I'll leave at first light tomorrow."

"You are not going away so soon, and alone?" the physician protested incredulously, his natural caution quick to rise to the surface. "You have only just returned to us, and it will not be fair on the queen to lose you again."

"Guinevere understands the importance of this quest," he said, "and will support me fully. This is my responsibility, and mine alone, as Guinevere well knows. I shouldn't need to remind you that she has always been close to Merlin." He paused, as if considering whether to continue. "She has been crowned sole ruler, but she'll remain regent for now. However, in the future she will rule jointly with me."

"Jointly?" the physician queried. "That is unprecedented."

"I'm setting a precedent," Arthur replied firmly. "That is the prerogative of kings, as I shall inform the council when I return. But the priority is to find Merlin, as I'm sure you agree."

Tears came to Gaius' eyes. "Of course I do, Sire, I want that more than anything, but in the meantime the kingdom will still be without you both."

"Only for a short time, I promise you. I will find him and bring him back to you. Then you'll have to put up with both of us again," he joked. "But at least I'll give him his own chambers, so that he doesn't keep making a mess in here."

Gaius bowed, looking considerably more cheerful at the prospect of Merlin's return. Perhaps he really would be able to prepare his favourite meal for him after all. "Thank you, Sire," he replied, already making plans to welcome his ward home again.

Arthur gave him a valedictory nod and turned to go, but stopped as something occurred to him. "Oh Gaius, before I get back, get rid of all the black drapes, would you? I shall expect a banquet at the very least on our return," he winked at him. "Merlin will deserve some cheering up. Mention it at the next council meeting."

 **...**

Ealdor was the obvious place to start his search. If he went anywhere, he would surely go to his mother first. Arthur just hoped that he would be in time, and that Merlin wouldn't already have left. His new horse flew like the wind under him, and in future times, he would hardly be able to recall the journey at all, so focused was he on his destination.

On reaching the village, Arthur recognized Hunith's cottage at once. He dismounted and hurried towards it, but Hunith, having been alerted by the sound of hooves on unyielding ground, opened the door and came out.

"Sire!" She stopped in surprise before curtsying deeply, but she seemed in no danger of fainting or falling over, and she asked no questions, which pleased Arthur greatly. Hers was the most encouraging reaction to his reappearance that he'd yet encountered.

Hunith smiled at him in wonder. "I _told_ him not to give up hope," she whispered to herself.

"So he is here, then?" he said eagerly.

She hesitated. "Yes, he is here..." He made a quick movement towards the cottage as if he couldn't bear to wait any longer, but her next word stopped him. "but..."

"But?"

Hunith was relieved that at last there was someone she could talk to about Merlin , and all the emotions that were bottled up inside her came pouring out. "Sire, he is not at home. He cannot bear to be in company. He goes out and spends his days alone, and he only comes back at night to sleep. He barely eats anything. I've tried to comfort him, but nothing works. He is inconsolable. I've never known him like this, and it breaks my heart to see it." She paused and tried to blink back tears. "I think it won't be long before he leaves us for ever."

"Not if I can help it," he vowed. This description of Merlin was so unlike the man he knew, that he wondered even more what would happen when the man returned. What would Merlin's reaction be? Their relationship would have to be fundamentally different now. Would they be able to meet as equals, as friends, after all that had passed between them? Would they be able to trust each other? Merlin's status would have to change, and continued servitude was out of the question. Would he even be able to persuade Merlin to return to Camelot with him? He was determined to do so, even if he had to shake some sense into the man. He thought back to his meeting with Freya. He knew now how much he had to answer for, and how much Merlin had suffered on his behalf. No matter what it took, he would keep his vow to Freya and put things right. He paced nervously, his concern for his friend growing with every second. The suspense and the tension were too great, and every moment seemed an eternity. Before long, he realized that his pacing was disturbing Hunith, so he went outside to wait for his friend.

He came at last as night was falling, his silhouette slowly becoming visible against a darkening and murky sky. He walked with weary steps, his shoulders hunched, and his expression drawn and miserable. The man seemed crushed, and to Arthur, he was almost unrecognizable as the cheerful, positive servant he knew so well.

Coming closer, he caught sight of Arthur and stood for a moment as if turned to stone, before he raised his hands and stepped backwards as if to ward off an evil spirit. "No, no," he cried, sinking to his knees in despair, fearing that he was going mad. "Not that."

He felt a sharp prod in the ribs and a comforting arm around his shoulder, before a familiar voice spoke in his ear. "Get up, you idiot. I'm real...and alive."

The warlock looked up, as pale as a sheet, into Arthur's eyes. Shock paralysed him for a moment, and he began to tremble. Eventually, he took a deep breath before shakily getting to his feet. "It isn't possible," he murmured to himself.

"That's what I thought at first too, but for _you_ of all people to say it..." Arthur replied, raising his brows.

"But I saw you die. I sent you to Avalon," he whispered, unable to drag his eyes from Arthur's face.

"And your lady love sent me back again."

This made Merlin raise his voice. "My _what_?"

"Freya. The lady of the lake." An expression of raw pain passed across the warlock's features, while Arthur's look turned from pity to one of mild exasperation. He thought he'd never seen the warlock so exposed and vulnerable. "Merlin, why did you never say anything?"

"It seemed I couldn't at the time. I had to protect her, and you'd have executed us both."

Arthur wanted to protest that he'd have done no such thing, that he'd have helped them, but the truth was, he wasn't sure what he'd have done. His father's influence had been too strong, and now he realized, so venomous. Instead, he put an arm around the warlock again. There would be plenty of time for discussion and explanations later. "Come on, let's get you home. Your mother must be worried sick."

Merlin allowed himself to be pulled along, grumbling, "I'm not a child, you know." He read an answer in Arthur's eye, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, very well."

The prospect of going back to the cottage was much more appealing now, but he was still shaking, struggling to believe what had happened. The searing pain that had become his constant companion was slowly receding, leaving him numb and empty. He was too exhausted to think clearly or to focus on the future, but only one thing mattered. Arthur was _alive_.


	3. Chapter 3

"Of course you must go back, Merlin. King Arthur needs you. The kingdom needs you. I will be fine," Hunith assured him. The discussion had been continuing for a while now, but had not gone in the direction she had expected. They had eaten their supper, a wholesome stew which the king had not spurned on this occasion, having learned the value of a simple meal cooked with love. The arrogance which had characterized his youth seemed entirely absent, Hunith noted. The king and warlock were warming themselves by the fire, when Hunith had asked when they planned to return to Camelot. To her surprise, Merlin had given her a warning look and seemed reluctant to discuss the matter.

The warlock gazed into the fire and seemed lost in thought. The shock was slowly wearing off, and he was drifting back to reality, aware that there was a future to be faced. When he looked at Hunith, he was overcome by guilt. He realized he had spent too long apart from her, and his recent experiences had taught him more than ever the importance of family. His mother had been there for him in his hour of need, but he had been selfish, spending every waking moment wallowing in grief, while leaving little time for her. Now he noticed the toll the strain had taken on her. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she looked frailer and more careworn than before. He knew he had been thoughtless and neglectful, and he wanted to make it up to her. "But I need you too, Mother, and I want to make sure you are alright."

Arthur interrupted. "There is a simple solution to this problem. Please come with us to Camelot, Hunith. You will be welcome to live in the castle with your own chambers; Guinevere would be delighted to have you." Then he remembered that Hunith was used to living alone. "But if you prefer to be more independent, we can provide you with a house within the city."

Hunith felt overcome by gratitude. "Sire, that is too kind. I would prefer to be close to Merlin in the castle, and I accept your generous offer."

Arthur smiled. "Good. That is settled then."

For the first time, a hint of genuine warmth lit up Merlin's face. "Thank you, Arthur."

"You're welcome. I couldn't have the mother of my Court Sorcerer living in a hovel, now could I?"

"Hovel?" Merlin sounded offended, until he realized the significance of Arthur's words. " _What_ did you say?"

"My Court Sorcerer. You _do_ want the job? There really aren't any other candidates," he teased.

Merlin was stunned. "Thank you, Sire," he stammered. "But what about the council? Will they allow it?"

" I am still king, Arthur replied smoothly. "And after your display at Camlann, I don't anticipate any opposition, but should there be any, I'm sure we can bring them around to our way of thinking. Guinevere and Gaius will support us from the start."

"And I suppose the knights will back us up," Merlin ventured. "Especially Percival and Gwaine." He stopped short at the expression on Arthur's face and a tremendous fear clutched at his heart.

"I suppose you haven't heard. Gwaine didn't make it. I'm sorry."

Merlin sank down on the nearest chair and put his head in his hands. His emotions were in turmoil. He had been catapulted from a terrible, all-encompassing agony to a lightheaded, dizzying joy, before being thrust back down into despair. The idea that he would never see his friend again was unbearable, A world without the irrepressible, roguish knight, who had bravery and charm in spades would be a much poorer place. His own life would also be immeasurably poorer without the knight's friendship, and feelings of guilt pierced through the grief he felt now. He had been so fixated on Arthur that he hadn't even known of Gwaine's fate. He realized again how selfish his behaviour had been. "How did it happen?" he mumbled bleakly. "Did he die in battle?"

Arthur shook his head. "It was Morgana," he said. "Gwaine and Percy went after her, but she captured them. She tortured Gwaine to death, and Percy escaped from his bonds too late to save him."

Merlin burst from his chair and ran out into a clearing in the forest. Hunith called him back, but his emotions were too great to be contained within this tiny cottage. He knew he needed space, and once again, it was the natural world that could be his only help and comfort. The world of men was too harsh, and the manner of Gwaine's death affected him profoundly. The wretchedness, the futility, and the unspeakable cruelty of it all gnawed at him relentlessly until he felt the anguish would never go away. Then he did something he had vowed never to do again. The maelstrom of emotions in him burst forth in a harsh and guttural cry which soared up to the heavens. The cry of the dragonlord.

Kilgharrah answered his summons immediately; he had never expected to receive the call again. The dragon took one look at Merlin's tear-stained face, and his fierce expression softened.

"Well, young warlock, I was wrong, and am happy to be proved so. I see our king has returned to us, which is a joyous occasion indeed. Camelot will get its Golden Age after all." He inclined his head thoughtfully as if he were trying to solve a mystery. "So what troubles you now?"

Merlin attempted a watery smile and felt sorry that he had summoned the dragon to no purpose. "I was feeling low. I don't know why I called you really, because you can't help with this."

The dragon chuckled. "Is it possible that you just enjoy my company?"

This idea seemed a novelty to the warlock, but he considered it gravely. "I suppose I do, yes," he smiled.

"The feeling is mutual," Kilgharrah said, unable to disguise his satisfaction. "I assure you." Rarely, if ever, had he felt so at ease in the warlock's presence. This time there was no mortal danger or crisis to be averted, but the warlock seemed to feel that there was something missing.

"Do you not have any sage advice for me today...or any riddles?" he asked plaintively. "I could do with something to take my mind off things."

The dragon laughed. "No, but I do have a request to put before you."

"Oh?" Merlin said, "What is it?"

"I would like to meet the young Pendragon. Now that destiny has been 'resumed', I feel it is time I got to know him properly. I take it you have told him everything?"

"I have, yes," he affirmed, but unsure whether such a meeting would be a good idea. "I'll think about it," he promised.

"Very well, I bid you farewell then, young warlock, unless there's anything else you wish to discuss. Until next time. And Merlin, now you have been granted a second chance, use it wisely."

Merlin grinned. "That's better. That's more like you. Thank you."

"For what?"

"Cheering me up."

"Any time, young warlock, any time." The ground shook as the dragon took his leave. Merlin watched him fly into the distance before returning to the cottage in a much better frame of mind.

 **...**

They departed for Camelot the next morning. The arrangements were simple to make. Hunith left the cottage to a neighbour with a young family, and Arthur commandeered the use of some horses to transport Hunith and Merlin and their possessions. The journey was not a long one, but for Hunith's sake, they decided to stop and rest when they came to a tavern. They dismounted and tethered the horses before entering the establishment. With a swift glance around the room, they selected a table near to the fire and away from draughts. The barmaid, a plump brunette with a merry aspect, came towards them, her eyes widening in recognition.

"Sire!" she gasped. "The gods be thanked. It wasn't true then. We had heard..."

"That I had died?" Arthur queried, used to this by now.

"Yes, Sire, but in the last few days, we'd heard strange rumours and didn't know what to believe." Her eyes filled with tears of wonder. "It is a blessing to see you again, Sire," she said fervently, making a deep curtsey.

Arthur smiled. "It is good to see you too," he replied. "Mary, isn't it?" He gestured towards his companions. "No doubt you will remember my _handsome_ servant, Merlin, and this is his mother, Hunith."

"I do indeed, Sire," she smiled in return. "He's as handsome as ever, I see. And it's an honour to meet you, ma'am," she said to Hunith. What can I get you all?"

After they had placed their order for mead with some bread and cheese, Mary turned to go, but stopped as something occurred to her.

"And I have good news for you too, Sire. Your friend is here."

Arthur looked up in surprise. "Which friend do you mean?"

"Why, the one that helped you last time and got stabbed by Dagr for his pains. A real hero, he was. I often wondered what became of him, until he walked through our door today. Seems he'd been away somewhere because he hadn't heard what happened to you. When he found out, he drank himself into a stupor. He's in the room at the back, sleeping it off."

At these words, both Arthur and Merlin went pale and half rose from their chairs. They looked at each other, with the same thoughts passing through their minds. It _couldn't_ be. Merlin felt again that this must be a dream, albeit a very long and lucid one. A single return from the dead was miraculous, but two? Mary must be mistaken. Preparing himself for the inevitable disappointment, he steeled himself to what must be done. "We'd better go and check. I'll do it," he said, standing up and moving resolutely towards the back.

Arthur rose in haste and followed Merlin. "I'm coming with you," he said.

They were loathe to enter the room, afraid that the little sliver of hope they'd been granted would be snatched away. Merlin knocked softly on the door, but Arthur didn't wait for an answer, instead pushing it open and stepping inside. The wooden shutters had been closed to allow the room's sole occupant to sleep unhindered, so the men needed a moment for their vision to adjust to the low light. They cautiously approached the bed, where the occupant was lying on his side, snoring gently. He was dressed in peasant clothes, a simple, homespun shirt and breeches, which neither of the men recognized, but a familiar looking pair of boots stood at the bedside. Arthur and Merlin peered in closer to examine the occupant. A startlingly handsome profile met their gaze; the man's distinctive long eyelashes and luscious curls made a beguiling picture.

It was Gwaine, of that there could be no doubt. Arthur looked stunned and was speechless, but Merlin grinned. "Now you know what I felt like when I saw _you_ ," he said. "Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"But what, how...?" Arthur began before lapsing into silence once more.

Merlin seemed to have control of the situation. "Why don't we wake him up and ask him," he suggested brightly.

"No, we can wait," Arthur said thoughtfully. "Let Sleeping Beauty enjoy his slumbers a bit longer," he smiled. "Let's go and tell Hunith the good news in the meantime. And you'll be wanting another drink to celebrate, I'm sure. After all, you do spend a lot of time in taverns, from what I hear..."

Pretending to be annoyed, Merlin tried to come up with a suitable reply, but he caught Arthur's eye, and they burst into laughter. Finally, it seemed, events were taking a turn for the better.

 **...**

They had finished their meal when they heard noises emanating from the adjoining room. The sound of scraping wood and bumps and groans came to their ears, before Gwaine came stumbling back into the tavern. The effects of the alcohol could be clearly seen in his wavering gait. "Oh, my head," he moaned. "Mary, do you have..."

His gaze swept the room and he noticed the group by the fire at once. He stopped dead and paled, unable to believe his eyes. Arthur and Merlin almost leapt to their feet in their rush to embrace him.

"It is so good to see you, my friend," Merlin said, putting his arm around the knight. Gwaine, nonchalant as ever, overcame his surprise immediately and returned the hug, giving them his trademark smile. "You too, Merlin, you too," he slurred.

"What happened to you? We'd heard you were dead," Arthur asked.

The knight smirked. "I could say the same of you. It seems we were both misinformed."

After introducing him to Hunith, Arthur gave him a brief description of events following Camlann, before the conversation turned to the victory itself and the crucial intervention of the sorcerer. Merlin almost blushed as Gwaine admitted his error in believing that magic was intrinsically evil. "I guess we've been lied to all our lives," the knight said, "and you tell me that sorcerer was on our side, which proves it."

Seeing that the warlock still held his silence, the king grinned. "Don't be so modest, Merlin," he admonished. "Gwaine should know who Camelot's saviour was. The famous Emrys. You've been hiding your talents from us for far too long."

Everything made sense to the knight now. He wondered how he could have been so slow to spot the obvious. "And so _you_ helped us win the battle? You're a sorcerer? You might have told me!" he said in a slightly injured tone.

Merlin merely nodded, relieved that Gwaine seemed to be taking it so well, while the knight took another swig of mead. He placed the tankard down and considered the warlock speculatively. "Wait a minute, _an old man_ , was that the same sorcerer who attended Uther...?" he trailed off, looking at the king apprehensively.

"It's alright," Arthur answered. "Merlin and I have had a long talk, and he's explained everything."

"Ah, but did he also tell you what this sorcerer did to us in the woods one day?" he said, casting an aggrieved look at Merlin, who was trying desperately not to laugh. Seeing the warlock's reaction, he appealed instead to Hunith, "I ask you, Ma'am, to consider that your son attacked four knights, causing us to bump into each other and fall over. To add insult to injury, he then used us as a footstool to climb onto his horse." He paused and spread his arms in an expansive gesture. "I ask you again, is this fitting behaviour for a servant of the king?"

"Oh dear, I am sorry," Hunith replied with a quiver in her voice, while Merlin could contain his guffaws no longer.

"You deserved it, mate," he laughed. "Bullying an old man like that. Honestly..."

Arthur, well aware that this gem of a tale would never have been related had the knight been sober, joined in with the merriment. "I wouldn't boast about it if I were you, Gwaine," he replied. "And how I would have loved to see your faces. Sir Leon..." The thought of his most senior and serious knight in such an undignified position caused him to laugh until his sides ached.

After this, Merlin and Arthur exchanged a look, and it was tacitly agreed between them that no more should be asked about the knight's adventures until he had eaten. At long last, however, when he had finished an enormous meal, they could contain their curiosity no longer.

"So, come on then," Arthur adjured him. "Tell us what happened to you."

Gwaine, now sobered up, sat back in his chair, totally at ease, with another tankard of mead at his elbow. He smiled sweetly at them all to indicate he was ready, and then he told them his story.

"The beginning of the story is hard to tell," he said, "although I suppose you already know it." He looked a little shamefaced at the memory, but took a deep breath before continuing. "What happened with Eira was the final straw; I wanted to stop Morgana once and for all. She had ruined so many lives, and I thought I could do it with Percy's help. He agreed with me and we set off to find her...but finding her was just the easy part." The knight stopped and drank deeply from the tankard to fortify himself and to blank the torture from his mind. "I'd forgotten how powerful she was...anyway, she left me for dead, and Percy found me. I was able to speak a last few words to him, but then a paralysis came over me. He thought I'd already gone, but although I'd lost the power of movement and speech, I was still aware of what was happening. He cut me down from the ropes and left me hidden in some bushes. I guessed he'd either gone to get a shovel to bury me or to catch the horses and take my body back to Camelot. I often wondered what he thought when he came back and I was missing. Perhaps he thought I'd been taken by wolves; I don't know."

"Very possibly," Arthur said drily. "He didn't tell us any of this. So, what did happen to you?"

The knight met his eyes. "I was saved, and in a way, it was all thanks to Merlin."

Merlin looked startled by this. "Me...what did I have to do with it?"

"I'm coming to that," the knight smiled. "As I was lying there, I could still feel the grass beneath me and sense the sky above, but I knew I was slipping into the other realm. I was gradually losing awareness, but at what seemed the last moment, someone lifted my head from behind and put a cup to my lips. After that I knew nothing more. Later, I found out I had fallen into a deep sleep."

"The Cup of Life?" Merlin asked in a hushed tone.

"Yes; Iseldir told me you brought it back to them after we regained Camelot. Your action saved my life. Thank you."

"I knew the druids could be trusted with the Cup," Merlin said. "They'd already proved that before. And Iseldir himself is the wisest of men."

Arthur thought it prudent to refrain from mentioning that he'd believed the Cup would be safest in Camelot's vaults. "You did well," he told Merlin, before turning back to Gwaine. "But you were fortunate that they were in the vicinity to help."

"He told me that they were on the lookout for those who needed help after the battle. They knew that some of the knights, in particular, were important for the future of Albion. I guess I was lucky."

Something occurred to Arthur. "Why didn't you try to get hold of the Cup to use on me?" he asked Merlin.

"I thought of it," the warlock replied, "but it wouldn't have worked. "The magic of the Cup of Life is powerful, but a sword forged in a dragon's breath is stronger." He turned to Gwaine, curious. "Didn't Iseldir tell you about me? He knows who I am."

"We talked about you, but he didn't tell me you were Emrys. He kept your secret," the knight confirmed.

This made Merlin appreciate Iseldir and the druids even more. "Sire," he said. "We will have to do something for them."

But Arthur had already come to that conclusion by himself. "Oh, I intend to, Merlin," he replied.

"They are a peaceful people," Gwaine said. "and we were so wrong about them. We owe them an apology for the way we treated them." His tone was respectful and full of remorse. Then he met the warlock's eyes. This time there was not a trace of levity in his expression, just the utmost sincerity. "And I'm sorry for the things I said to you...you know, about the flames...and for that other time, with Lamia."

Merlin was taken by surprise again. "I didn't think you remembered that."

"I didn't, to start with," Gwaine admitted. "But it came back to me gradually." He extended a hand towards Merlin, which the warlock shook with alacrity. "And now, my friend," he continued, his natural joviality returning, "How about you magic up another tankard of mead?"

…

Their journey was near its end, and they were eager to arrive home and aware of the great responsibility that destiny had placed upon them. Arthur looked every inch the king as they prepared to make their formal entrance to the citadel. Merlin was transformed, with a renewed sense of purpose and determination, and a spring in his step. Gwaine looked again the epitome of strength and valour; a man to be relied on in a crisis. Hunith's eyes shone with her pride in them all. They were ready to embrace the future and the challenges ahead.

Arthur urged them on, although it wasn't really necessary. They had ridden hard all the way, just stopping occasionally to rest the horses. As they crested the last hill before Camelot and the valley below came into view, they were dismayed by the sight that met their eyes. The plain was crawling with soldiers. _Enemy_ soldiers.


End file.
